


et nos cedamus amori

by astralscrivener



Series: abc's of klance [14]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Alternate Universe - Canon, Declarations Of Love, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, This Is Just Sappy And Way More Self Indulgent Than I Meant It, rated M mostly for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:22:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25111564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astralscrivener/pseuds/astralscrivener
Summary: n is for need.“What. Did. You. Do,” Lance hissed in his ear.Keith laughed like Lance had made a joke and squeezed him tighter, and whispered back to him, “Wait until they’re gone.”The Blade of Marmora's newest approach to diplomacy means sending Keith to secure an alliance with a people known for their passion. One week of pleasantries and a marriage proposal later, Keith admits that actually, he's already married.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Series: abc's of klance [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/960195
Comments: 90
Kudos: 727
Collections: oh YES





	et nos cedamus amori

**Author's Note:**

> _title taken from the aeneid because fuck you virgil_
> 
> hey gang what's up, i'm back with another oneshot lovingly beta'd/edited by [nicole](https://twitter.com/queen__eevee), who puts up with my absolute murder of grammar because. they want to? what a concept
> 
> yeah anyway this is the fake marriage oneshot i've been tweeting about i don't think i have any trigger warnings on this one for anything that's how sappy this shit is, 
> 
> timeline is that nothing is canon past like season 1, shiro never went missing so they never switched lions but they discovered allura can pilot any of the lions since she is connected to all of them, keith decides to go join the blades to find his mom or some shit, they've been at the voltron thing for like. three years or smn anyway 
> 
> have fun

**.:need:.**

Lance’s plans for a lazy Tuesday afternoon on the castleship got interrupted not twenty minutes in by a bundle of clothes smacking him in the face.

“Excuse me? Pidge? _What_ is the meaning of this?” Lance demanded as he peeled away what appeared to be a fine, midnight blue suit. It glittered even in the dim lights of _Killbot Phantasm III: Revenge of the Bot_ , like bits of diamonds had been threaded into the fabric. Were he not annoyed, Lance might have marveled and rushed to try it on.

“Suit up and meet Allura on the bridge. Her orders,” Pidge said, and then walked away as if that was a sufficient explanation.

While Lance’s mind ran a mile a minute, trying to work out why Allura might have wanted to see him on the bridge in a suit like this, the door fell shut between him and the Green Paladin and gave him no space to ask further questions.

So he didn’t question a thing.

He suited up. On another day he might have taken his sweet old time, but his curiosity was eating at him, and he didn’t feel inclined to keep Allura waiting. Still, he spared himself a minute to stop before the mirror. Something about wearing something so formal but doing nothing to his face and hair nagged at him—the phantom of his mother’s voice scolding him for looking so casual, and his sisters’ voices echoing as they coaxed him into their room for a makeover.

_Sorry, Mamá, I’m in a bit of a hurry._

He ran one more hand through his hair and then headed out of his room and down to the bridge. Here, Allura was reading over a datapad, brows furrowed. Coran read over her shoulder, offering commentary that, judging by Allura’s expression, seemed a little less than helpful at the moment.

“Uh…you guys needed me?” Lance asked, jamming his hands into his pants pockets as he strolled in.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” Allura said, though her bunched shoulders did not relax, nor did her pinched expression smooth out. “You’re going on a solo mission.”

Lance’s steps slowed as he walked forward, and he glanced back down at his outfit. “A solo mission? And you’re sure this is what I’m supposed to be wearing? I mean, if I’m going alone, don’t you think I need armor?”

“Not as long as you don’t provoke the Argrivnins!” Coran said, raising a finger. “They’re famous for valuing love above all else, so the mission shouldn’t be too much of a challenge.”

“Passion,” Allura corrected quietly as her eyes fell back to the datapad. “Love is a generalization, though not entirely incorrect.”

“The Ar-who now?”

Lance leaned over Allura’s other shoulder and scanned over the datapad. All of the information before him was written in Altean, which meant it was mostly unreadable. He had only picked up on a few important words that kept coming up in transmissions—mostly things like _Paladin_ and _Lion_ and _surrender now or die_ —but there was another he knew that caught his attention.

“The Blades?” he asked. “What’s up with the Blades?”

Allura sighed, a long breath out through her nose. “The Blades were running a diplomatic mission on the planet Argriv, except that they hit…a bit of a snag on their mission. It seems that over the course of the mission, the Blade they sent in accidentally caught the eye of their prince, who asked for his hand in marriage. And then the Blade said _no_ , which angered them, and the only recourse he could think of was to say that he couldn’t accept because he was already married.”

“The Argrivnins think of marriage as sacred,” Coran added. “The love between people that brings them together in a lifelong union is one of the most important passions in their society, and to lie about it, well…”

_Blade. Marriage. He._

Lance’s heart jackhammered.

“So what does this have to do with me? Did…did the Blade say he was married to _me?_ ”

“Oh, good, you’re catching on!” Coran said.

Allura nodded, mouth in a thin line. “The Argrivnins didn’t quite believe him and demanded proof, so he reached out and asked if you would come down and confirm his story.”

“Okay…” Lance fingered the hem of his suit jacket. “So I know I’m super stunning and all, but who…?”

Allura gave him a long look, and Coran stared at him in confusion.

Lance blinked.

“Keith!” Coran said at last. “Who else would it have been? After all, you and Keith were close, weren’t you? He was probably seeking a friend he knew he could trust.”

_Keith said you were his husband._ Lance’s face warmed, and he decided the floor was particularly interesting as he ducked his head.

“Alright, but why couldn’t Keith have just named another Blade? Why—why one of us?”

“He didn’t say, but I’m sure you can ask him when you see him,” Allura said, either oblivious to—unlikely—or ignoring—far more likely—his blush. “I’m uploading the coordinates to Argriv’s central palace to the Blue Lion as we speak. Palace security is aware of your impending arrival and should escort you inside. They… _shouldn’t_ be hostile. Not if they value marriage and love as much as they claim. They were also having perfectly civil talks of an alliance with the Blade before Keith, ah, proclaimed your love, so.”

“Reassuring,” Lance muttered, raising his head.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Coran said, reaching over and clapping him on the back before pushing him toward the elevator to the Blue Lion. “Now, off you go!”

“So what do I do, just tell them Keith is my husband and leave?” Lance called over his shoulder.

Allura shrugged in response. “If you can secure an alliance, that would be nice! Oh, and use what’s in your pocket!”

Lance scowled, fingers flexing in his _empty_ pants pockets. _Alright, fine._

He could do diplomacy almost any day of the week. Any time, any place. He was a natural charmer—his mother had always told him he was born to be an entertainer, like a movie star or an actor on Broadway. It didn’t do much for his dream of being a pilot, given that he couldn’t really shmooze his way out of a failed flight simulation, but it worked wonders when making new alliances as a member of Voltron.

Would it work this time, on a spurned prince?

* * *

Prince Virdnak’s guards hadn’t exactly imprisoned Keith.

He had spent the better part of the last couple hours replaying the exchange in the throne room: the way the guards buzzed like they knew what was about to happen; the secretive smiles the prince and his captain shared; the moment Virdnak stepped down from his throne and knelt before Keith, who stood all alone in the center of the room; the warmth of two hands clasping around his own being nothing compared to the flames in his cheeks; the way his heart all but tried to break free from his ribcage as he lied his way out of a fucking _proposal._

_“I’m…flattered. But I…”_

_A muscle feathered in Virdnak’s red jaw. His hands squeezed Keith’s, and for a moment, Keith wondered if maybe accepting the proposal and staging an accident would have been the safer way out. If he said no, if he said, “I can’t do this,” if he angered the prince who ruled a people known for their passion…_

_Passion. Love. Hatred. Rage._

_It wasn’t difficult for Keith to imagine himself on the wrong end of a half dozen swords in under five seconds if he said the wrong thing._

_But love…_

_His face burned for an entirely different reason as he swallowed, made himself look Virdnak in the eye, and said, “I’m already married to someone.”_

_The change was immediate. Virdnak’s eyes widened to the size of saucers as he reared back. He released Keith’s hands, staggered to his feet and stumbled back. Keith thought he might have tripped and fallen on his ass had his captain not reached for him at the last second, but he said nothing. Just observed as Virdnak dusted himself off, pushed his slipping crown back into a perfect perch in his golden hair, cleared his throat._

_“My apologies,” he said at last. “This entire movement, I had merely been under the impression that you were unattached, that perhaps there was room for_ me _to be attached, but it appears I was mistaken. If I may be so curious…who_ is _it that has found themselves so lucky to be yours?”_

Motherfucker.

_Keith tried not to make it obvious, the way he swept his eyes around the room. Six guards in the immediate vicinity, plus the Captain right behind Virdnak. Not to mention, the planet’s two queens, Lueitia and Brevann, sat not twenty feet away on their thrones upon a dais. Two more guards were posted at the doors just outside of the room. There were eight stained glass windows on both sides of the room, but all of them were obscenely skinny, too skinny for Keith to crash through as an escape route._

_If he didn’t name anyone, if he kept it as vague as possible, he doubted anyone here would believe him. If he told the truth that he was lying to get out of marriage to a prince he had met only a week prior, there was a chance he’d be killed or taken hostage. And if he lashed out first—jumped to conclusions, tried to preserve himself—and threw away the alliance he had spent so long working for, had spent days in itchy formalwear biting his tongue and keeping his mouth shut and making polite small talk for, Kolivan would have his ass on a platter._

_Steel glinting in his periphery, the prince’s gaze darkening with every wasted second, Keith blurted, “The Blue Paladin of Voltron.”_

What a way to get himself trapped in his own guest room.

It could have been worse. Keith had been on a tour of the palace when Virdnak had offhandedly mentioned the dungeons where they kept their prisoners, and Keith had snuck out that night to see them for himself. He could have ended up down there in chains, but instead he was here: lying on a plush red rug in a room that was almost as big as his entire shack back in the desert, staring up at a ceiling painted with romantic stories from Argriv’s main religion, and wondering how much bad karma his decisions in life had earned him.

They had believed his lie about being married all the way until he named Lance, because a _Paladin of Voltron? Him?_

The Blades had trained him never to reveal that he was once—and still occasionally operated as—the Red Paladin. _Keith_ had trained himself to never say more than he had to. So he had just smiled fondly—not a lie—and nodded, and then the guards ordered him to contact the castleship. He had talked to Allura, and she played right along, agreeing to send Lance to verify their marriage.

As soon as the call ended, Virdnak’s guards had seized Keith’s arms and dragged him back to his room, bolted the door from the outside, and left him there.

Two, maybe three hours had passed, and Keith hadn’t moved. Hadn’t climbed up onto the cushy four-poster bed centered against the wall, hadn’t walked out onto the balcony for some fresh air or an escape route—he didn’t doubt that there were guards patrolling down below just in case he made an attempt—hadn’t tried to ask to use the bathroom and make a break for it.

He had done nothing but sit in silence.

Keith had grown so used to the silence that a knock on his door startled him. He bolted up, hand flying for the knife still strapped to his back, as the locks clicked open, the door swung in, and there was Lance.

Lance had two guards behind him, pinned by their hawk-like gazes, as he entered the room, _slowly_ , and drank it all in: the vibrant decor, the spaciousness, the glitz and the glamor, and Keith.

“Lance,” Keith breathed out, feet carrying him forward.

Lance’s expression melted into warm relief. “Keith, you’re alright!”

As expected, Lance had been briefed. He rushed forward and swept Keith into his arms, one hand cradling the back of his head and the other tightly clutching his shoulder. Keith didn’t have to act as he relaxed into his embrace and buried his face into Lance’s shoulder, because after a week of being tense, of being around people he hardly knew, of being courted by a random prince, he could use a face as familiar as Lance’s.

Even if Lance might have been annoyed with him.

“ _What. Did. You. Do,_ ” Lance hissed in his ear.

Keith laughed like Lance had made a joke and squeezed him tighter, and whispered back to him, “Wait until they’re gone.” Then he raised his eyes to the guards lingering in the doorway and called, “Please, if you could give me some time alone with my husband?”

“Of course,” one of them called back to him, suddenly seeming to think better of just standing there. They pushed their friend aside and pulled the door shut. After another minute, Keith let go of Lance, crept over, and locked it from their side.

Then he turned around to see Lance staring at him with his arms crossed.

“I’m sorry,” Keith whispered first.

He strode back across the room, gunmetal gray cape fluttering out behind him, and grabbed Lance’s hand. He pulled Lance over to the bed, as far away from the door as they could get. Lance’s expression softened slightly as he let himself be tugged along.

“Heard you had a good reason,” Lance responded, voice still quiet.

Keith stiffened.

“Look, I’m not mad,” Lance tacked on as they sat at the edge of the bed. “I’m just a little shocked, and I _was_ a little annoyed. I was _this_ close to beating level 50 on _Killbot III_. Like, c’mon Keith.”

It didn’t get the reaction out of Keith that Lance had been hoping for. Instead of laughing, Keith stared at their intertwined fingers, his expression…Lance could have called it crestfallen.

He nudged Keith with his shoulder. “Hey. Seriously, I’m not mad, and I’m joking about _Killbot._ If you gotta tell a prince we’re married to get out of a marriage proposal, then you gotta tell a prince we’re married. And if I’ve gotta come rescue you and confirm it, then so be it. I just, well, I _do_ wanna know how that went down, and why…”

_Why me,_ he didn’t finish.

Keith hesitated. His tongue swiped over his lower lip, his eyes narrowed. Then he slipped his hand out of Lance’s.

He didn’t move away, though. Even with their shoulders pressing together and knees knocking, Keith stayed where he was. Lance might have mourned the warmth of his hand, but he still had Keith right next to him as he began to explain.

Keith started from the minute his mission began, when he deboarded his ship and met the planet’s two queens, who introduced him to their son. Though Virdnak had seemed smitten from the start, he was polite to Keith the entirety of his stay, if a bit flirtatious.

“I don’t know if he thought that I was being nice because I was into him, or what, but…I must’ve done something to insinuate that I liked him back,” Keith recounted, face flushing pink.

“ _Or_ , he’s just extremely bad at reading signals,” Lance offered.

The ends of Keith’s mouth twitched. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

“ _Listen_ ,” Lance said, “if you’re talking about Nyma, that was _one time_.”

Keith shook his head. “You’re terrible.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m so terrible, I came all this way to pretend to be your loving, doting husband, who just _adores_ your mullet—”

“It’s not a mullet!”

Keith leaned back, batting at Lance’s hands as he reached for Keith’s hair.

“Is so!” Lance protested.

“My hair is just _long!_ Look up what the word _mullet_ actually means, and _you’ll see_ —”

“A picture of you!”

They must have raised their voices without realizing it; there was another knock on the door, and Lance and Keith froze. It gave Keith just enough time to realize he was practically lying down, Lance hovering over him. Take away maybe an inch of the space between them, and Lance would have been directly on top of him.

“Is everything alright in there?” one of the guards called from the other side.

Lance glanced down at Keith, who stared right back up at him, cheeks red.

“Do they think I’m a threat?” Lance spoke so quietly he might as well have mouthed it.

“Or the prince just really wants to catch me lying so he has an excuse to put a ring on my finger and a crown on my head,” Keith whispered back. Then he raised his voice and said, “Can a man get _privacy_ with his spouse?”

After a beat, the other guard responded, “Our apologies, although Prince Virdnak is eagerly awaiting your presence in the throne room.”

“We just need five more doboshes,” Keith said.

“…Very well.”

Lance and Keith each breathed out long sighs as they righted themselves. Keith quickly broke down the rest of his time here: the various palace and town tours, the dinners, the evenings spent walking with the prince in the garden, how this was the Blades’ trial run of a new approach to diplomacy, and how Kolivan had chosen Keith because he was one of the least imposing Blades.

“I think that’s code for people finding you hot,” Lance pointed out.

“Evidently,” Keith responded, eyes on his lap. “And so the prince proposed to me in front of a bunch of people, and I was afraid if I just said _no_ they’d kill me or something, so I said I was married. But then he asked who I was married to, and I was afraid if I didn’t answer or dodged the question… _again_ , they would kill me or something, so I just…said the first person that came to mind.”

“Me.” Lance pointed to himself with an arch of his eyebrows.

“…Yeah,” Keith said, letting out a breath.

Lance pursed his lips. “What…why was _I_ …mm. Why not Allura, or like, Hunk? Why was _I_ the one…?”

Keith didn’t answer right away, and Lance’s stomach knotted. Every time he seemed to get Keith to relax a little bit, something happened, and his walls went right back up. They weren’t the impenetrable force that they were when they were around strangers—the way Lance found them every time the guards around here acted up—but they were still much higher than Lance would have liked.

“I don’t know,” Keith said at last, quietly. “I wasn’t…I wasn’t thinking about who was the best diplomat or best pilot or anything, I…”

“You…?”

Keith shook his head. “You were just the first person I thought of.”

“…Alright,” Lance relented. He rose to his feet and offered a hand to Keith. “We better get going before those guards break down the door, then.”

Keith nodded, eyes unfocused. They only seemed to snap back to attention when Lance started for the door, and he tugged Lance back.

“Just out of curiosity, what did Allura say to you before you got here?”

“Not much.” Lance shrugged and sank back. “Explained some of the Argrivnin beliefs about marriage, told me to tell them we’re husbands, suggested I secure an alliance for Voltron while I’m here, and said something about my pocket, but…”

Keith’s eyes flitted not to his pants pockets, but to the breast pocket on his coat. Lance followed his line of sight. The pocket bulged out just slightly, something Lance hadn’t taken particular notice of before. He hadn’t felt anything when he put the coat on, that was for sure.

“What’s in it?” Keith asked.

Lance reached inside, flushing when his fingers brushed against metal. Slowly, he fished out two bands—gold wedding bands, from the looks of them, each of them set with a simple purple stone. If they were on Earth, Lance would have called it amethyst, but this far out in space, he couldn’t be sure. Not when he didn’t even know where they had come from. The space mall, perhaps.

“Oh,” Keith said softly. “Uh…makes sense.”

He reached out to take one, but Lance raised his arm so that they were out of reach. “Oh, nonono you don’t!”

“Lance, I have to wear that,” Keith deadpanned, crossing his arms.

“I know!” Lance said, and then lowered his arm. “I just think that, as I am about to walk out of here as your husband, I should step into the role by wooing you. Give me your hand.”

“Lance—”

“C’mon, Keith, you can do this for me after,” Lance pleaded. He pouted. “ _Pleeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaase?_ ”

“Fine,” Keith grunted, glaring. “Only because you broke out the puppy dog eyes.”

He stuck out his hand, rigid at first. But then Lance took it, and after a moment, Keith lowered his guard.

It struck Lance how warm Keith’s hand was, and how soft his skin was. He wore gloves most of the time, and they saved him from most of the callouses Lance had developed when he trained on his days off. So Lance allowed himself to linger, running a thumb along the knuckles of Keith’s fingers.

Keith made a noise in the back of his throat.

“Sorry,” Lance murmured, and brought one of the rings to Keith’s second to last finger.

Gently, he slipped it on and adjusted it so that the purple stone glittered in the light of the sunset flooding in through the balcony doors. When Lance raised his head, he found Keith’s eyes almost the same shade, found his profile outlined in gold, found his cheeks dusted pink again. Without thinking, Lance’s hand drifted forward, and he tucked a piece of Keith’s hair behind his ear.

Keith sucked in a breath.

Lance’s fingertips burned.

He drew back, and held out the other ring in offering. Keith took it without meeting his eyes and reached for Lance’s left hand. Unlike Lance, who trembled slightly, Keith’s touch was steady. He slid the ring onto Lance’s finger and then, before he could lose his nerve, brought his hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to the ring. To Lance’s knuckles.

Lance flinched.

“We weren’t saying vows,” Keith said, voice hoarse, “so I figured I’d...do that. My dad…when he talked about my mom, he talked about how sometimes he’d kiss her ring and her hand. Sometimes he’d do it when they watched the heat lightning in the distance, or when they were sitting in the kitchen...something to let her know he loved her. He said she ate it up every time. Figured I had to woo you, too.”

_Consider yourself successful._ The words stuck to the roof of Lance’s mouth. He managed nothing beyond a nod, still studying Keith’s face in the dying daylight. He didn’t think he imagined Keith’s flush deepening when he looked up and saw Lance’s expression.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Keith whispered.

“Mm.” Lance’s eyes kept coming to rest on Keith’s mouth, on the lips that not even a minute ago had been pressed to his skin. Something hot and heady unfurled at his core as he brought his other hand back up to Keith’s cheek. 

“If we’re married, do you think we might have to kiss?”

“Maybe.” Keith intertwined their fingers, and then Lance felt a hand on his waist.

He rubbed his thumb along Keith’s cheekbone, closed his eyes, and pressed their foreheads together. “Y’think we should practice, just in case?”

“…Maybe…”

Keith’s breath ghosted across Lance’s upper lip. The grip on his waist tightened.

“Kiss me?”

One beat. Two.

Then heat met Lance’s lips.

He didn’t know Keith had such a capacity to be…this soft, he supposed. He would be lying if he said he had never imagined what it might have been like to kiss Keith. Most of the time, Lance pictured it rough, far rougher than…well, this.

At first, Keith’s lips only brushed Lance’s, so light Lance hardly felt it, almost as though Keith hadn’t kissed him at all. Then, there they were again. Keith tilted his head and leaned into Lance’s palm, slid his arm all the way around Lance’s waist, and pulled him in deeper. Lance’s hand moved from Keith’s cheek to the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair.

_His lips are chapped,_ Lance thought as Keith adjusted the angle again, nose bumping Lance’s cheek. _Is he drinking enough water here? Is he taking care of himself?_

Something surging, swelling in his chest, something that felt like— _affection_ , Lance deemed it, skin buzzing and heart racing. He decided that even if Keith had been taking care of himself, he no longer had to do it alone.

They had started looking out for each other even before Keith left for the Blades. Voltron’s right hand and right leg, the Red and Blue Paladins, fire and water. Lance noticed when Keith overworked himself on the training deck, made sure he ate enough, kept him in check when his temper flared. Keith lifted up Lance’s voice when it went unheard by everyone else, let him ramble even when the rest of the team tuned him out, stayed by his side when he couldn’t bring himself to sleep alone.

And maybe Lance hadn’t realized until now how much he had missed Keith’s presence in the castle, maybe he had never dwelt upon the empty space at his side in battle, but he always knew something was off. He always knew that there was an absence aboard the castleship no one could fill, and a missing link in their defenses, and—

A hole.

A hole in his heart.

There was no one to needle into talking at dinner, no one to nudge in the side as they made snide comments under their breath about some of the less savory diplomats they’d had the misfortune of dealing with. Hunk was too tall for Lance to casually and comfortably drape his arm around, Pidge usually shrugged him off, and Shiro and Allura were just unapproachable in that respect, but not Keith. Keith maybe would have scowled, but would lean into him anyway.

No longer did Lance stay up late on the observation deck, blanket pulled tightly about himself and a warm mug of Altean hot chocolate clutched in his hands, as he poured out his fears and frustrations to the only soul willing to listen to him, to _be there_ and take him seriously. No more of those nights, no more nights playing video games while Keith kept him company, no more nights where he let out his nervous energy by braiding a grudgingly-willing Keith’s hair…

“I missed you,” Lance admitted on Keith’s next breath.

He missed him more than those three words would ever be able to explain, but maybe their kiss made up for some of that, said what Lance couldn’t. Because how did he explain the ache in his chest or the stinging in his eyes when it hit him just how much he had gotten used to having Keith there, and how he hadn’t realized exactly what that meant to him until it was gone?

Keith’s fingers curled tighter at Lance’s waist as their lips broke apart and their foreheads came back together. Eyes closed, he whispered back, “I missed you too.”

Lance, Keith, they could have lingered there forever, had it not been for insistent knocking at the door.

“Prince Virdnak has ordered that the door be broken down and defensive measures be taken should Master Kogane and the Blue Paladin not present themselves in the next dobosh!” one of the guards called.

Keith and Lance didn’t doubt their threat—not when on the other side of the door, a gun whined to life.

“The prince wouldn’t have them shoot you,” Lance whispered as he and Keith released each other, clasped hands dropping down to their sides. “He really does think I’m a threat.”

Keith’s free hand twitched toward the knife strapped to his back, expression caught somewhere between amused and enraged. “He’s right on that count. Let’s just hope he doesn’t do anything about it.”

* * *

They made their way to the throne room sandwiched between six guards, two leading them and four following. Keith looped his arm through Lance’s and held tight the entire walk there, down corridors he had been dragged through earlier that day. Bitter as the memory rose up, Keith kept his eyes trained forward while Lance took in the space around them: light gray walls of stone, white marbled floors, windows that stretched from the ceiling to the ground to let in the last golden threads of the dying sun, and paintings. Dozens upon dozens of paintings. Generations of the royal family, their wealthy patrons, important nobility, the gods and heroes of myth—

“Gotta admit,” Lance murmured, leaning over to speak into Keith’s ear, “dude’s got a pretty snazzy living space.”

“And too _much_ living space,” Keith replied.

One guard glanced back at the two of them, and Keith shot them a withering look that had them facing forward again almost immediately.

Lance nodded, staring at the back of the guard’s head. “You’ve got that right. That was a guest room you were in? That’s almost three times as big as the _master_ back at my house.”

“Could’ve fit the entirety of the shack inside of it, and then some,” Keith countered.

Lance opened his mouth to respond when the guards in front of them halted before the double doors of the throne room. Two more guards posted at the doors drew them open, and between the guards’ heads, Lance could see the place where Keith had proclaimed that they were married.

A long red carpet ran down the center of the room, just as thick and cozy as the one back in the guest room and immaculately clean. It led all the way to a dais with three thrones: two large ones flanking a smaller one nestled between them. All three thrones were wrought of gold and some sort of glinting white metal, same as the crowns sitting atop the heads of Argriv’s queens and prince.

They rose as the guards proceeded forward and ushered Keith and Lance along with them. Once they hit the carpet, the guards split up and posted themselves three-and-three on each side of the carpet, leaving Lance and Keith, arms linked, standing in the middle.

“Approach,” spoke Queen Lueitia sitting on the left, all pink hair fading silver and deep red skin. On the right, Queen Brevann—pink-skinned, brown-streaked hair pulled into a severe topknot—watched with careful indifference. But what mattered to Keith was not them; it was Prince Virdnak, stepping down the dais to hit the carpet. His guard captain remained against the wall near Queen Lueitia, but Keith felt the pierce of his gaze all the same.

The gravity of the situation didn’t hit him until he and Lance were standing before the prince, and he painstakingly extricated his arm from Lance’s grasp. He almost didn’t want to. Adrenaline spiked through him, and again, he thought about reaching for his knife, as if the moment he let go of Lance was the moment he would be seized and killed.

_Passion. Love. Rage._

Keith’s hands curled into fists as he and Lance knelt, heads bowed. _He’ll have to get through me first._

“Keith Kogane of the Blade of Marmora. Blue Paladin of Voltron. You may rise,” Queen Brevann said, and so they rose.

Virdnak stood barely five feet away, expression unreadable—not with the neutrality of his mother, but the warring of so many different emotions that Keith couldn’t pin down even one.

“Your Highness,” Keith said, once more slipping his arm through Lance’s, “you asked for my husband, and here he is.”

“Yes.” Virdnak stepped forward, pupil-less black eyes narrowed as he scrutinized Lance.

Lance tried for a smile, even if he gripped Keith a little tighter. Virdnak hesitated before flashing a far-too-forced one back.

“Might I ask your name, Paladin?” he asked, returning to his original spot at the base of the dais, hands clasped behind him.

“…Lance,” Lance said, and when Virdnak raised an eyebrow, he added, “McClain. Lance McClain.”

“Lance McClain,” Virdnak repeated, and then nodded as he flicked his gaze to Keith. “And you love him, Master Kogane?”

Keith’s turn to squeeze Lance. His cheeks warmed, and his tongue suddenly felt crowded in his mouth. He could have given a simple _yes_ , loud and strong, but instead, his words came out close to a whisper: “Yeah. More than anything.”

He turned to look at Lance, who, even for all his theatrics, all his lying and covering up his feelings of inferiority, couldn’t conceal his surprise. His lips parted slightly, his eyebrows knitted, and his eyes turned glassy.

“And you, Master McClain?” Virdnak turned to him. “You love Master Kogane?”

Lance’s gaze never strayed from Keith; he didn’t deign to look at Virdnak as he responded, voice reverent, “With my life. With all my heart.”

Keith might have continued looking at him and the way his lips curved up, the way his expression softened and all of his muscles relaxed. Maybe Keith would have kissed him, Virdnak and the queens and the guards be damned. But then a light from near the dais caught his attention. He looked, Lance and Virdnak each following his line of sight to someone he hadn’t even noticed before.

It was a figure, orange-skinned, robed in white with the hood over their bright silver hair. They held something in their hands—some sort of glass orb, like a crystal ball without a pedestal. It glowed, a flickering white light at first. The longer Keith stared, the more the light brightened, the more the color shifted, until at last he had to raise an arm to shield his eyes as the orb bathed the throne room in brilliant red.

Had the prince and the queens not seemed so unperturbed, had the guards made a move, perhaps Keith would have finally drawn his knife. But they all remained calm, even if a muscle feathered in Virdnak’s jaw and his eye twitched, and so Keith just pulled Lance closer to him, away from the orb and away from the person holding it.

“Their love rings true,” the person called when the light began fading. “The marriage is valid.”

“What was that?” Keith all but demanded, ignoring the way his heartbeat sped up.

“A validity test,” Virdnak answered matter-of-factly. Gone was any smitten expression, gone were the moon eyes that had followed Keith the entire week. Virdnak looked at him now with an expression that burned differently. One that, had Keith been a coward, would have incinerated him on the spot. “Argriv takes marriage, takes _love_ , seriously. It is our most sacred tradition, and our priests serve to verify that it is not desecrated with deceit or false unions.”

“So you thought I was lying,” Keith said. “You thought _Lance_ was lying.”

He tried to step forward, but Lance tugged him back with a pleading look.

“Yes,” Virdnak responded.

“You realize that even if I had said _yes_ to your proposal, it wouldn’t have been out of love?” Keith pushed anyway. “That your _own_ marriage would have been _invalid_ or whatever?”

“ _Keith_ , this isn’t the time,” Lance hissed.

“And you don’t realize that that was also a test?” Virdnak shot back. “Do you know how many people would _kill_ for the chance to marry a prince for riches alone? You could have easily passed by saying _no_ , and then there would have been no need for your husband to make a trip all the way out here, no need for this second test _at all_ —”

Lance slapped a hand over Keith’s mouth and pulled him into his chest before he could say something he might have regretted.

“My apologies, Your Highness,” he said. “My husband’s a, uh, very _passionate_ man who _also_ takes love very seriously and just…doesn’t like having his emotions played with, important test or otherwise. It’s one of the things I love about him, actually.”

Hesitantly, he let go of Keith’s mouth, ignoring the daggers Keith was shooting at him as he carefully watched Virdnak. He hoped that love was the passion they valued above all, because if they valued hatred and anger more, preferred the clang of swords over wedding bells…

_Blue, if you can hear me, I might need you on standby._

“But you are not,” Virdnak said.

Lance shrugged. “Well, where we come from, passion’s more of a thing to be had in moderation, because too much passion in the wrong place can get kinda messy. That’s kinda why we work. Keith’s the hothead, and I’m the one who’s gotta come in and cool him down.”

“And sometimes,” Keith spoke up, “Lance needs a boost to get him going when he’s a little _too_ calm, or lost in his head.”

Virdnak studied them for a moment, eyes switching from one to the other and back again, when at last, he nodded. Whatever curiosity had been there, he had satisfied it.

“Fascinating,” he said. “That’s…something that brings me great pain to hear, but fascinating nonetheless.” He turned to Keith and stuck out his hand. “I…I apologize for the deceit and the trials, Master Kogane, and for having misled you. Consider this alliance with the Blade of Marmora solidified.” Once Keith shook his hand, Virdnak turned to Lance, smile withering just slightly. “And you, Blue Paladin: your efforts to come all this way on such short notice are to be commended. It speaks to the character of Voltron as a whole.”

“Y’think we could maybe get an alliance?” Lance asked. “We could really use some of that passion on the battlefield against the Galra.”

Virdnak’s expression brightened into something more genuine, albeit more dangerous. “Consider it done. I’ll have the necessary data sent out to both the Blade of Marmora and the Castle of Lions at the earliest opportunity.” He took a step back and bowed before Lance and Keith. “It was an honor to have you both here, and a pleasant week with you, Master Kogane. You’re both dismissed, and myself and my mothers wish you safe travels.”

Keith and Lance bowed back, exchanged a few more pleasantries, and then were led out of the palace by the same six guards who brought them to the throne room. Neither breathed easy until they were off of the palace grounds and set free on the streets of the surrounding town, left to their own devices to return to the airstrip where Blue was waiting alongside Keith’s shuttle.

They had been silent for most of the walk, unwilling to speak in the presence of the guards, and then too nervous when they were surrounded by denizens of Argriv. They wove through the crowds side-by-side, hands jammed into the pockets of clothes too fine for the casualness around them.

Every so often, Keith stole a glance at Lance, his profile outlined by the soft orange of light bulbs strung up along wires and the candles flickering in streetlamps. After everything that had happened today—proclaiming Lance as his husband, the hug upon their reunion, the rings, the _kiss_ —he suddenly found it difficult to so much as hold his hand, let alone look at him.

None of that had been an act—definitely not on Keith’s part, and he was almost certain Lance hadn’t been, either. He had watched Lance flirt with countless aliens who meant nothing to him a day later; he had watched him charm diplomats and then trash-talk them the moment they were out of earshot. He knew the faces Lance wore and knew this one was really his, and…

Keith had brought it out of him. And he hadn’t meant to.

He had long been hopeful that this Lance, a Lance who loved him, was maybe _in love_ with him, existed, as weeks aboard the castleship became months, and then a year, then two, now nearing three years of being on the front lines of a war. He had gone from that hot-but-annoying guy in the Garrison to an ally, to a friend, and then something else. Keith had hoped that maybe Lance saw him in the same way. He hoped even when no one begged him to stay with the team instead of leaving with the Blades, he hoped on the weeks when he caught a break and could visit the castleship and sleep in Lance’s bed to ward off the nightmares, he hoped and he _hoped_ —

And he never wanted to hear the truth this way.

Sometimes, on those late nights when they both couldn’t sleep, Lance described his dream date, described the many different ways he envisioned his confession to his _one true love_ possibly unfolding. Lance talked of romantic picnics under the stars, a fancy date in the finest restaurant he could find, a flight in the Blue Lion to watch the sunset or kiss in the rain. Lance wanted grand. He wanted memorable. He wanted intimate.

Keith had tucked all of those details away. Keith had wanted to give that to him.

_You had to say Lance. You couldn’t lie and say Hunk, or maybe a Blade like Regris. You had to go with Lance._

“Hey, are you alright, man?” Lance asked, pulling Keith out of his head. He hadn’t realized how far they had walked—above purple treetops, he could make out the very top of the Blue Lion’s head. They were getting close to the airstrip, and closer to separating. Again.

Lance must have seen his expression, maybe caught him staring. He sighed, slung an arm around Keith’s shoulders, and changed paths.

“Hey! What are you—?”

“We’ve gotta talk,” Lance said. “I saw a park somewhere over here when I was flying in.”

There was no getting out of this, and talking was better than just. Leaving. Leaving and not acknowledging any of what had just happened, leaving and letting Lance go back to the Castle of Lions while Keith went back to the Blade of Marmora, uncertain of when they would see each other again. _If_ they would see each other again.

“Park’s this way,” Keith muttered, tugging Lance in the opposite direction.

On they walked without another word between them. Whether they said nothing because they didn’t want anyone to overhear, or because they were too busy thinking of what to say and how to say it, Keith neither knew nor particularly cared. The only thing that mattered to him now was how casually Lance had grabbed him, how easy it seemed. Just like old times.

His chest ached.

Maybe when this was all said and done, he was due back for another visit at the Castle of Lions. Or an extended stay.

The crowds thinned out around Keith and Lance the longer they walked—people dispersing as they turned in for the night, or went about their business in the town’s shops and restaurants. By the time they arrived at the park, they found themselves the only souls there. Leaves skittered across the cobbled sidewalks, purple veined with pink, carried on a light wind that ruffled Lance’s hair and rippled Keith’s cape.

“So…” Lance’s arm tensed and shifted as though he couldn’t decide whether or not to keep it around Keith’s shoulders. At last, it dropped, leaving the back of Keith’s neck cold as Lance’s hands retreated to his pockets once more.

“Look,” Keith said, “this is my fault, alright? This all could’ve been avoided if I had stopped to think, and I’m sorry.”

Lance looked sidelong at him, brow furrowed. “Sorry? What’s there to be sorry for?”

“Dragging you out here. Having you drop everything to pretend to be my _husband_ , and then…the priest, and…” Keith ran a hand through his hair and let out a frustrated breath. “I didn’t want you to find out that way. You deserved better than—whatever the hell that was. If it was even legitimate.”

“Well, I think that whole thing was a load of baloney, first of all,” Lance said. “Like, a test? Asking you to marry him? Ridiculous. And second…” Lance stopped walking and took Keith’s hand with both of his own, bringing him to a halt. “You said you didn’t want me to find out _that way_ , which means…”

Keith stared at Lance’s hands, at the ring sitting on his left. Then he raised his head, made himself look Lance in the eyes, and swallowed. “I…I meant what I said. To Virdnak and the priest. I’m in love with you, Lance. I’m not apologizing for that—not when it’s the truth. I’m just sorry I couldn’t tell you how you wanted to be told.”

“How I wanted—Keith, what…?”

Keith explained it to him: the dates he had talked about, the swoon-worthy confessions he professed to dreaming of, “And I wanted that for us. I wanted to give you that, I wanted it to be intimate and _ours_ and instead, I panicked.”

“Keith—”

“There was a reason I said _you_ were my husband. It wasn’t that I wasn’t thinking—not entirely.”

In the light of the twin moons rising higher into the sky, Keith saw the distress lines around Lance’s eyes, and another spear of adrenaline stabbed through him. Lance’s hands squeezed tighter around Keith’s, but the second Lance opened his mouth, Keith continued on.

“I panicked in the moment,” he said. “That’s true. I panicked and said I was married, and I didn’t have you in mind when I said it. But then Virdnak asked who, and I didn’t—I didn’t say you just because I wanted you to come and so I could pretend we were really together, or anything like that. I named you because I knew I could count on you to come. You’ve always had my back no matter what, and so when Virdnak asked me who I was married to, you were the first one to come to mind. I didn’t have any strategy planned. If I had wanted a better diplomat maybe I would have asked Hunk to come, and if I didn’t want any feelings on the line maybe I would have named a Blade, but you…it was second-nature. I didn’t even stop to question it.”

Lance blinked a few times as Keith’s words sank in, while Keith’s soul tried to detach itself from his body the longer the silence stretched on.

He clamped down on the part of him itching to wrench his hand from Lance’s grasp and walk away with a muttered, _Forget about it._ That Keith wouldn’t do him any good—he never had, and he certainly wouldn’t now. Not after the kiss, and not with his heart and soul laid bare.

“I didn’t want to play with your feelings,” Keith added in a quieter voice. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry if you felt pressured, and I’m sorry I couldn’t give you the confession you deserved.”

One beat. Two.

Lance threw his head back and laughed.

In the next moment, that fleeting moment where Keith’s fight-or-flight kicked in and he thought, _Maybe I should’ve run after all_ , Lance let go of his hand, only to wrap his arms around him and pull him in for a tight hug. For a second, Keith was stiff. Then he heard a sniffle as Lance’s laughter settled into something else, and he relaxed into it, bringing his arms around Lance and burying his face into the crook of his neck.

“I love you too,” Lance whispered, digging his fingers into Keith’s coat and cape. “I’m in love with you, too.”

No audience here. No one to make him say it. Blue wasn’t far off, and Lance could have called her over if he wanted. He could have—could have saved face, let Keith down gently and they would never have to speak of it again. Hell, if he asked, Keith would have agreed never to see him again.

_I’m in love with you, too._

“I don’t care about not getting to go on some fancy date or having some epic confession.” One hand strayed to Keith’s hair, his fingers twisting and tangling and stroking, gentle ministrations that eased the galloping beat of Keith’s heart. “I mean, if you ask me, this was pretty epic. Like, c’mon, we were in a _throne room_ and then there was a priest with a giant glowing _orb_ that said, _yeah, they’re in love!_ I think that’s cool and swoon-worthy all on its own. And besides…” Lance stepped back and settled his hands on Keith’s shoulders, mouth twitching into a smirk. “I think we really confessed back in that guest room.”

Stuttering heartbeat, fire in his veins, and Keith. Keith in his arms, under his hands, against his lips.

At his side.

“That was practice,” Keith corrected, gripping the lapels of Lance’s jacket and pulling him back in. He paused when their mouths were close enough to touch but just out of reach, eyes narrowing as they met Lance’s. “I hope you learned something.”

Lance narrowed his eyes right back, smirk widening. “I’m the Sharpshooter. I don’t miss.”

“We’ll see about that.”

And Keith brought their lips back together.

**Author's Note:**

> my inspiration is the aeneid, terribly enough
> 
> if i've gotta spend a whole semester bullshitting about passion and its role in the narrative and how it means love _and_ hatred and shit like that then by god i am going to put my classics degree to good (...or maybe questionable) use
> 
> also this wasn't supposed to be this sappy, they were supposed to fight over something stupid and have a big dramatic yell-y confession and they were supposed to talk about need vs want (lance was supposed to get upset and internalize everything like, "he doesn't actually _want_ me, he just needed me for this one thing") which was where the prompt was SUPPOSED to come in but then i was like u know what. i made this prompts list i do what i fucking want and i JUST WANT THEM TO BE HAPPY
> 
> also like. they're going through it in like 95% of what i write i figured i could cut them a break this time around so. there u go
> 
> i dunno what's coming next, i've got a lot to write, so consider subscribing so that u don't miss anything (i sound like a gotdamn youtuber)
> 
> i hope u all have wonderful days/nights/whatever time it is for u (if u are reading this at 3 AM GO TO BED) <3
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/astralscrivener) | [nicole's twitter](https://twitter.com/queen__eevee) | [fix-it fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15900732/chapters/37059441) | [my other writing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astralscrivener/works) | [nicole's writing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queeneevee/works)


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